Monthly Archives: February 2011

I have this friend who consistently chastises me for not taken the bedraggled body of our world seriously enough. She tells me that I am blind to the state of affairs outside of my door. She’s right. The windows to my soul point up not out and my door stays firmly closed against the rising tides of despair. There is this constant onslaught of information, some of which keeps me current, the rest of which makes me want to grab a razor. It’s like pricking a hole in a balloon, the air doesn’t just squeak out, the whole thing blows up in your face. Scaring you half to death and leaving you without a balloon to fly away on. As I do my best to keep the worlds troubles at a manageable trickle, I am taken by the need to balance it with things that comfort me. Like teen love movies and Jodeci. (I will not apologize for being nostalgic, so don’t even bother.) So today, on a day when the world is heaving with revolution and Portland is (embarrassingly) having a snow crisis, let us find some joy in something aside from self mutilation. In reference to the media deluge that you are faced with……

Just remember, when you dance with the devil, you don’t change the devil, the devil changes you.

It is amazing how great photography eliminates the need for editing. You can’t confuse talented camera work with photoshop. Some photogs worth checking out- Ellen Rogers, Saga Sig, Sally Mann, Elliot Lee Hazel, Imogen Cunningham…all of which will be shown on this blog ad nauseaum.

“I don’t need to light the world on fire, I’m just trying to keep my nuts warm.” Earnest Borgnine said this in an interview with Vanity Fair. And you know folks, he’s got a point. As a young little pony I was flush with the righteousness that is very much a part of youth. Give a 15 year old pubescent, lonely, and wildly imaginative girl the complete works of Ayn Rand and see what that does to her. Once a year or so I pretend to clean out my boxes of memories that I drag from house to house. In doing so I inevitably end up cross legged pouring over my old journals. When you realize that the reason you had no friends is because you insisted on discussing objectivism in a dystopian society, well, things just become a bit clearer. The better part of my journals is my regurgitation of Rands staunch tirades against altruism and communism. Two things of which I know very little first hand. Eventually I stumbled on the unexpurgated diaries of Anais Nin and my passion was redirected towards that pursuit of torrid love affairs. Which consisted of unrequited love followed by tormented nights of poetry writing and candle lit sessions of the auditory dry hump that is Enya. And such is the journey of girl with a library card. Years pass and the heat that once radiated from the bonfire of my youthful convictions is now just a slow warm breeze that just barely keeps my junk toasty. I don’t seem to care as much about changing the world. I suppose I never really did. The romance of the fight, the up hill battle of major metamorphosis was what my green little heart craved. Grand scale shifts don’t really seem possible anyhow. No one can agree on anything long enough to move our society towards anything but the edge. I feel strongly that working towards things on a local level is the most effective, if everyone takes care of theirs then all things are taken care of. Right? Warm nuts for all. I have never understood politics so I tend to focus on the frivolities like music, art, sex, revelry. So imagine my surprise when I woke up one day and discovered that things are going bonkers out there. Again, I am in the shade concerning the why’s and how’s of the current shit show we find ourselves in and part of me wants to stay that way. Insert head into sand. There is no real reason for me telling you this except to admit that I am now realizing that it is time for me to kick that bonfire of “give a shit” up again, maybe lend a little heat to a scene that needs some warmth. I am starting this by getting involved in the fight to save Planned Parenthood. Maybe next I will fly over to Egypt and set those kids straight. But first things first.

On a side note, I want to thank everyone for the positive feed back. I will do my best to keep this thing fresh and relevant. I will try to stay on topic and not ramble off down the hills of my strange thought process. As soon as I am not totally broke I will buy some more room on this thing and start posting music for y’all to down load. In the mean time, I leave you with a quote from Ayn Rand and some images that I think are cool.

It only stands to reason that where there’s sacrifice, there’s someone collecting the sacrificial offerings. Where there’s service, there is someone being served. The man who speaks to you of sacrifice is speaking of slaves and masters, and intends to be the master. Ayn Rand

Oh goodness…

Red heads are the most beautiful creatures to walk the planet. Aside from blonds.

Random Rab and Barisone…..dj’s, muscle men, and makers of memories.

Went to a party this weekend with these two guys. Let it suffice to say that it was a good ole time. Check out Barisone’s musical stylings at http://soundcloud.com/barisone. There are some great downloads on thurr. Random Rab does is right…learn more about this incedible individual at http://randomrab.net/

All things considered, I would say that the smiley faces on his knees is the oddest element here. He kind of reminds me of my dad is some way. Except Ozzy is more reasonable.

You know parents are the same
No matter time nor place
They don’t understand that us kids
Are going to make some mistakes
So to you, all the kids all across the land
There’s no need to argue
Parents just don’t understand

I read today that the water heads in the house of representatives are pushing forth a bill that will cut the lion share of funding for Planned Parenthood. Two things. One: Why? They save the state a kings ransom in welfare handouts. All we need right now is more under educated broke ass kids with low self esteem and no dental care. That sounds like a banner plan. Wouldn’t stemming the rising tide of the of potential liberals be the high agenda of the “Grand Ole Party”? Lots of whys here. Two: Where would this money be better spent? Because I feel relatively confident that it won’t be funneled into the only place it would really do some good, our schools. More bailouts perhaps? Face it folks, our economic infrastructure is less stable than drunk jenga. This can’t be about the money. Oh, wait. I think I get it. Hit the liberals where it hurts. Right in our bleeding vaginas. Back to the alley ways with ya. If you don’t eat your meat you can’t have any pudding. To the balding, closeted, piss hounds I say this, “One day the servant will become the master”. In the mean time I think I will go make some babies then make the state pay for their fruity pebbles.

P.S Sorry for the deluge of entries from this blog but I have been saving them up. To the brim with opinions, images, quotes, music, and quasi sober religious diatribes.

“Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire, dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.” So sayith Tom Robbins as he answers the age old question of how to make love stay. Three horchata with rums later I had the grapes to give the cook at Por Que No my number, the old slip and skip. I leave my number with the skinny margarita maker and run for the door. I guess this is how I make love stay.

Commercial Break:

Boris. Don’t borrow money from this guy.

A few things you should know about me.

If I could afford it, I would buy real fur. I care but the only way I plan on changing the world is by loving life so much that when I die people party instead of wearing black. Over thinking things doesn’t make you deeper, it just makes you more boring. I waste a lot of my time taking naps. I am reading a book about how to stop procrastinating, I will let you know if it helps. Tomorrow. I have been single for what seems like a millennium and sometimes it doesn’t seem long enough. Everything I do in some form or another has to do with fashion, style, or tom foolery. Rome is burning and everyday a bigger part of me wants to buy a match. Instead of being hypocritical I just admit to loving and hating everything. And right now, I am drunk.

What’s the coolest thing you saw today? Did it make you want to change your life? Did it?

Maybe I am on the ass end of this trend but I am just toosh over tea kettle for the Pendalton log cabin look. I know I know.. Portland has finally turned me. Or maybe it’s my roommates little habit of putting tepees on everything. The new Pendalton Portland Collection makes me want to hunker down in a bed of Eskimo fur with a deep sea fisher man named Gunter (say it like Gooonter, it sounds better). It’s hardy and romantic, two things that only usually apply to things like Ernest Hemmingway. The heritage wools are historical without being boring, the unisex shirts offer shape without that hussy appeal that is commonplace these days. I think I am going to attempt to the creation of a Pendalton inspired print. Stay tuned.

The ultra talents at Church and State were tapped to design this beast. God bless em. If anyone wants to make a mustang real happy they will buy her this poncho for her upcoming 33 birthday on march 16th. Drool face killer.

As a side note I wanted to add that Portland style, once slotted as morose, elitist, ok I’ll say it, hipster, is much richer and vibrant than folks will admit. Go out to the Crown Room (or where ever the kids are going these days) on a Saturday night and you will see that it’s not the dream of the 90’s but the 80’s that is alive in Portland. I love that neon nerd look. It may be tired but at least it’s fun. On the flip side of the krush groove is this yummy native american/New Tex Mex vibe. Let’s see what happens if we mix hyphy with worsted wool…………

At the Backspace gallery in Portland is this show that I believe is being curated by my pal Ashley Montague (who is an ill artist his own damn self) and in this show is some graff-ish work by this barrel of a man Jason Fritz. I haven’t met him yet but plan on it. I will woo him with my witty tapdancing blah blah-ing and soon he will feel compelled to give me some original piece that I will hang over my bed. I digress. Fritzs work has this interesting desperation about it. Urgency or something like it. He mixes the crisp lines of industrial graffiti and the muddy slashing of a tortured cellar artist. I fucking love it. I scoured the net for a web site or someway that folks can view his canon but no dice. He’s on face book, with the rest of the free world, and goes by alter one. Clever little man. http://www.backspace.bz/

As I lay here, half propped on an archipelago of pillows, a soggy centimeter of snow falls in the streets out side of my window. I like it but it makes me feel like I should be using that pass to Mt. Hood Meadows that I bought. Why do things that should make me feel motivated instead make me feel like a capitol looser?

There is a big old party this weekend with a few of the dj’s that I can still stand, the theme is chinese new years and I am thinking jumpsuit. Something with a hood maybe. So I can hide from the raver kids sucking on pacifiers and sweating like piglets. Oh, and welcome to my new blog. Hope it lives long and prospers.